Black and Peachy-White
by KittehVader
Summary: As I poured the warm liquid into a twelve ounce cup, I marveled at how good Sherlock's... deductions were. He seemed to be able to read people as easily as I read books- their lives to him must look simply black and white. Or, in my case at least, black and peachy-white. I giggled to myself as I thought about how lame that sounded- even in my own head. Oh, the joys of being me...


**Disclaimer: I do not own BBC's Sherlock... just my character and such. **

It was a warm and surprisingly sunny day in London- a nice alternative to the eternally dreary weather. At least, I thought so, but work was keeping me inside on such a nice day- though I suppose it was also saving me from my allergies that were sure to explode as soon as I stepped out to door.

Not that the influx of costumers was helping to keep the dreadfully fragrant pollen away from my highly sensitive nose, unfortunately. But I suppose that couldn't be helped.

"That will be three pounds and eighty-two pence," I informed the costumer before me, sliding the cup of Laurel's special "Herb an' Earl" tea across the counter as he counted out the change. Though tall in stature, I could tell that he used to be even taller- when he was younger, that is. Age riddled his kind face with wrinkles and crinkles that appeared in abundance whenever he smiled. Dressed in a simple pen-stripe suit with a bright blue tie, he looked very sharp and was probably headed to a business meeting or perhaps a high-class social gathering; I assumed so because of the repeated glances he shot at his watch. He handed me the four pounds with his right hand, and semi-patiently waited for me to collect his change from the cash register. Definitely in a hurry.

As I handed him the eighteen pence, I looked into his face once more. He had a crooked nose between his wise old eyes that very much reminded me of my grandfather. Making a mental note to give my own grandfather a call when I had a break, I bid him farewell and he was out the door almost before I had finished saying, "Have a good day, sir."

As the morning sun climbed higher in the sky, I grew a little bored with the orders- or lack thereof- and began to simply study _Laurel's Tea Corner_.

The shop was rather petite and quaint, with only a front room for costumers, a back room for storage, and living quarters upstairs where Laurel and her husband, Reece, dwelt. The front door was painted a cheery yellow that from the outside stood out nicely against the ivy-laden red brick. Simple white lace curtains were parted from the front window that exposed the interior of the shop to the world outside and vise versa.

Across the street was a little bookstore where our most loyal costumers almost religiously entered and exited before visiting "The Corner," as they had so lovingly dubbed it. Though I too loved to read, I rarely entered the store save for the days when I knew for a fact that the owner was indeed away from town. She was a very unsettling creature by the name of Mrs. Marigs, and her flavor was certainly not the most pleasing- nor the most pleased, I dare say. She had a very skeptical air about her, and if she found one unworthy of talking to or even acknowledging, then the aloofness of character flipped on like a light switch. It was quite odd, to state it simply.

I hope I need not say it, as it should somewhat at least be evident, but simply: we did not get along.

Whatsoever.

She annoyed me and I appalled her. Simple as that.

Inside those wide-paned windows that looked out on her bookstore, wing-back chairs of a pale blue hue sat side by side, facing the street and the pedestrians who strode swiftly down the sidewalks on either side. Between the chairs and the window was a low coffee table where one could place their drink if they just wanted to curl up in the chairs and read a book.

The walls of Laurel's shop were covered in a sweet Victorian wall-paper, the calico print simply magnifying the feminine essence of The Corner. Simple pendant lighting hung from the ceiling, glowing softly over the three tables and four booths that filled the front room and provided seating for twenty-five at the maximum limit.

I looked down at my apron, and silently giggled at how perfectly it mirrored the interior of the building. It was pale pink with little blue flowers and a white lace border. Delicate and feminine- Laurel's favorite qualities in nearly anything.

Perhaps two minutes after I'd finished examining the shop, I'd begun drumming my fingers on the counter, bored out of my mind. And that was when the bell rung lightly, signaling the entrance of a new costumer.

The first man was rather stout, his shoulders a little less than five feet high from his shoes. The very same shoulders were pulled straight and his manner was both proud and honest. His blue eyes had a certain comical sparkle to them, and his lips were twisted into a funny little grin. His beige sweater fit perfectly over dark green slacks, shiny loafer-clad toes peering out from behind the hem. With grey blonde hair and lines creased into his forehead, it was rather obvious that he was older than his companion.

The second man stood much taller, about six feet tall. His eyes were a much lighter and icier blue with a hint of violet mixed into the iris' color. His hair was tousled dark curls that fell every which way they seemed to please, and high cheek bones gave his face a rather imposing look- or maybe that look came from the one he was giving me, like he was solving an equation or drawing a dot-to-dot map in his mind. His overcoat collar was turned up, a blue scarf nestled between it and his neck.

Interesting pair.

"Hello! And welcome to _Laurel's Tea Corner_. My name is Meryl; how may I serve you, today?" I smiled sweetly, looking between one and the other.

The shorter one smiled back just as brightly and replied, "Coffee for me, and he'd like a tea."

I bobbed my head in acknowledgement and set to work getting everything prepared. In seconds I was back, and stating their total. As the shorter man, pulled the money from his wallet, the taller one turned his head slightly, a funny look in his eye as he looked at me. I blinked back at him, curious.

"Yes?"

"Oh, no need to mind him," the shorter said as he handed the money to me and shot a warning look at his companion.

I smiled awkwardly, now a bit unsure of the two. "Okay, then."

"South Carolina or Georgia."

"Hm?" my eyebrows shot into my hairline on their own as I turned to the taller man.

"Which state: South Carolina or Georgia?"

"Uh... Georgia, how did you know?"

"Georgia? What 'Georgia'?" the shorter asked looking completely lost as he turned his attention from the taller man to myself and then back again.

I shook my head slightly to overcome my shock a bit, and was about to explain when I was interrupted. "Where Meryl is from; she's obviously American."

"But-... you sound British enough," he muttered in reply, looking to me.

"I'm sorry, but- who are you?" I asked the taller one. If he already knew all about me I felt a little odd knowing nothing about him- not even his name.

"Holmes. Sherlock Holmes."

"Ah," I said snapping my fingers, "the consulting detective, correct?"

"Indeed."

"Okay, okay," the shorter one said looking a little peeved. "Yes, he's Sherlock the loud-mouth. I'm John Watson," he then extended his hand for me to shake, and so I did.

"Meryl White," I smiled charmingly before looking back to this Sherlock Holmes. "How did you know I was from Georgia?"

"You told me."

I shook my head, "No, I worded it wrong. How did you know I was from the Southern US?"

"Simple," he smirked lightly, "Though your English accent is good enough to fool most people, there's just the slightest edge of 'southern belle' tone to you voice. Your trying to hide that you're not from here, but why?" Now he was back to looking at me like I was an equation to solve, with many extraneous solutions. "Now that brings us to why you're here. Not family troubles- I doubt that. You're seem too relaxed for that. Not trying to disappear, no, you're simply trying to blend in. Look and sound like a normal Brit- even though you're not. Staying with family, but for a long while as you're also working here. With such a low salary, what would that help for? Simply something to do when there is nothing else to be done. Or maybe you know the owner of this shop and she agreed to let you work for a while. Or perhaps you're simply working here for the day while she's away."

"Actually, she is away, but I've been working here for a while now. And I'm just trying to avoid the question of why I'm here," I let a small grin tug at the corners of my lips.

"Too embarrassed to explain the real reason why."

"Indeed, I am." Sighing I left them at the counter and wandered over to where Sherlock's tea was being brewed. I had to remember that since I'm in London, Brits don't like their tea to be "bruised"- though Momma never like tea if it was anything but bruised.

As I poured the warm liquid into a twelve ounce cup, I marveled at how good Sherlock's... _deductions_ were. He seemed to be able to read people as easily as I read books- their lives to him must look simply black and white. Or, in my case at least, black and peachy-white. I giggled to myself as I thought about how lame that sounded- even in my own head. Oh, the joys of being me...

"Here you are then," I set the cup down before Sherlock but he stayed looking at me. "What? Are there any more facts you're about to spew out?"

John chuckled at what I'd said, but when Sherlock opened his mouth again, John sighed.

"Good embarrassed," Sherlock stated as fact. "You're here for a specific reason that most people would find fascinating and admirable."

I nodded. "I graduated from high school two years too early. My grandparents are helping me pay my way through Cambridge."

"Wow," John muttered, looking at me impressed, and then receiving a look both from Sherlock and myself- a very unimpressed look.

"This is why I don't tell people. It's not that big a deal; high school was just too boring and drama-riddled for me to want to stay there any longer than necessary. Thanks to my grandparents, two years were sufficient enough."

"My apologies," John said a little abashed from my response. I giggled lightly.

"No worries. It's just such a common occurrence that it grates on nerves a little more each time. Anyway," I turned back to Sherlock. "Is there anything else you wanted to announce?"

"One hundred eighty centimeters tall, recently cut blonde hair, brown eyes that are trained to look a person straight in the eyes when you speak to them. Seventeen and left-handed. Posture suggests ballet lessons but the slight tilt of shoulders suggests not in a few years. Perhaps because of your left ankle that you limp lightly on. No make-up, perhaps not enough time, so you're not a morning person: a fact supported by the dark circles under your eyes that are due to late night... reading, I assume. Correct, your eyes widened a mere fraction. A slight case of attention deficit hyper disorder- you tap your foot to no rhythm and for little to no reason. Allergic to the pollen in the air- your eyes are slightly red and your nose twitches every few seconds as if you are trying not to sneeze. You're succeeding. You are naturally cherry, and also naturally side-tracked and distracted or else you'd notice the girl sneaking up behind you: one hundred sixty-five centimeters, red hair and brown eyes the same shade as yours."

"Paige?" I turned to my left and sure enough there my cousin stood, though instead of looking at me, she was pouting at Sherlock.

"You forgot: gorgeous, talented, amazing, sweet, sassy-"

"-Conceited, annoying, ambiguous, dull, tyrannosaurus-brained..."

Paige slapped my arm none to lightly and _hmpf-_ed, giving me the cold shoulder. I rolled my eyes.

"You know it's true- so don't even try denying it, Paige."

"Well, you're one to talk! Miss _I-don't-like-people_, _I-prefer-animals_, _not-long-enough-books_ and _too-little-time_. Oh yeah," she said, turning to Sherlock and slinging an arm around my shoulders playfully, "and you forgot to mention her lack of recognizing how time works."

"What is that supposed to mean?" I turned to look at her, pulling my head back a bit in both offense and annoyance to her close proximity.

"You really don't know what time it is, do you?" she asked.

"Of course I do! It was 10:45 when I looked at the clock last, just a couple minutes before these two came in here."

"And what time is it now?"

"Um... four, nine... 10:56?" I asked, with a sheepish grin, scratching the back of my neck slightly.

"Wrong. It's 11:15- now come on! We have places to be."

I whipped my head around, trying to find a clock in the shop... Somewhere... Anywhere...

"Why hasn't Laurel bought a stupid clock yet?!" I squeaked, breaking out from the British accent and now muttering with my pure Georgian accent once more. I grabbed Paige's right-arm, yanking it back to see the time displayed by the watch Aunt Carol had bought for her birthday.

_11:16_

Since when?!

"I'm sorry," I apologized to John and Sherlock profusely, "but I have to shut the shop up for now. Thank you for stopping by!" I smiled and walked them to the door, flipping the sign to closed as soon as they'd exited.

My day just went from chilled to hectic in a matter of ten seconds.

Or so it seemed to me, but perhaps I shouldn't be stating the time.

**/Author's Note/**

**It didn't exactly end the way I had wanted it to, but none the less, I hope you enjoyed it. **

**It's my first little fanfic on here, so try to be sweet in your reviews! Please and thank you~**


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